Innocence Lost
by dictionaryofdreams
Summary: An AU story about Hannibal and Will if they had met when they were quite young and still developing their views on the world. I imagine them both as rather lonely peculiar children who had a difficult time connecting with others. I hope to take them through many adventures throughout the story and welcome any suggestions for themes or scenes that you would like me to portray.
1. Hannibal Lecter

Today I walked to the beach as I always do when the weather is good and it is a quiet summer. When there are no adventures. Looking down at the pebbles beneath my feet I thought about how they seemed to glisten like precious stones, I wondered why some rocks were valuable and others were not but I quickly knew the answer. As for these stones, they were only beautiful in the water, but still I wish I could have taken them all with me or else stayed with them forever because they reminded me of how things would have been if the world had just been created and there was no one but me, when I looked out across the water I would not see buildings but wild unpredictable wilderness. To go here was to get away from the world, even though there were a lot of people at the beach they did not seem to see me, at least I did not feel that they did. It was wonderful to feel the wind and the water. Most days were similar when I went here, I would imagine stories in my head as I walked along the coast, I would hum and I would watch the people run and laugh and wonder what it was like to care so very little. I feel that I think an awful lot more than I ought to for me to be a happy person. Some of the things that I think of are silly, some or strange, but I know that there are secrets there too that no one else knows.

As I continued along the shore I saw someone who was doing peculiar things, a boy with light hair was writing a message in the sand with a stick.

It said "_I WILL HELP YOU_".

He wore a white dress-shirt with blue pinstripes and a pair of beige shorts, his feet were bare and covered in scratches as though he had been running through the woods, his shoes and socks were sticking out of a bag that lay on the sand beside him. I felt an urge to talk to him even though I was afraid, not of him in particular but of people in general, but I knew that if I did not ask him my questions they would bother me for many days to come. I looked at him from a far for a bit and he must have seen me as he turned to look my way. I was going to ask my first question but my mouth gaped like a dying fish as it usually does in such cases.

"Come here," he called out to me.

I did, relieved that I did not annoy him. We looked at each other for a bit longer like animals do, with wariness and curiosity. I noticed that he was staring at my fingernails and so I hid them under the sand, they had blood underneath them.

"Hi there," I murmured, forcing a smile.

"Hello," said the boy, his voice did not seem hostile or friendly, he smiled too but only a little.

"I need help," I blurted out, those words had been there in my throat since after I had read the words written in the sand and had felt like I would suffocate until I said them, like a voice inside of me insisted on it.

"What brings you here today?" he asked.

I did not know what he meant, whether he asked about why I sat next to him or why I went to the beach. I decided I would tell him everything and if he was not a good person to talk to I would run. He would think I am weird but that would not matter, I would not see him again. I would not go to the beach anymore. Maybe he would leave too, maybe he was only there with his family for a vacation.

"I don't really know what it is exactly, but I think I might have an anxiety disorder," I said in a very serious tone, this is what I heard my mother and my psychiatrist talking about. My psychiatrist is an old lady named Dr. Laroy that asks me many questions about my thoughts but I do not tell her the most important things though because I know she will tell everything to my mother and I would be embarrassed.

"What brought about this conclusion?" the boy sat up straight and smiled in a different way as though I had said the right thing. Also, his words had a strange accent to them but I did not know what kind.

"Well, since I was eight, I think, I've always been nervous around other people but the past few years have been worse. I'm twelve now, I always get this feeling that I'm sick when it comes to I guess any social situation," I replied.

He stayed silent so I continued.

"And there are more things I'm just terrible at explaining how I'm feeling."

He licked his lips.

"And just explaining things in general."

"What is the most frightening thing these people can do to you?" the boy spoke at last.

I did not want to say so I kept going.

"But also, I don't know if this has anything to do with this, but I have this problem where I –I have these freak outs, when it gets bad, and I try and wash off the terrible feeling that I get, and I wash so much that I bleed."

"Wash your hands you mean?" he seemed even more interested but not scared or disgusted which made me glad.

"Mainly my hands but during showers too," I told him.

"What are you afraid that the people will see?" he asked me. "What has to be washed away?"

"I don't really know. I just worry about what they'll think of me I guess – and that they'll come and talk to me."

"It may be a comfort to know that people are very afraid of people too, many studies say so," he wiped away the words in the sand as if to say that he was not helping people anymore or was busy helping me. "What is so frightening about them thinking or saying silly things, like birds chirping at you? Birds are not frightening, they are too afraid to hurt you even if they would have liked to. "

"I-I dont know. I just get so nervous and don't know what I'll say," I took the stick that lay beside him and started peeling it. He looked at me doing that and probably knew that I was nervous but I kept going.

"What if you say something absurd and they laugh and think you awfully dull, what will become of you? Will it hurt? More than bleeding?" he smiled, a smile I did not like.

"It'll probably be stuck in my head for quite a while," I admitted. "The things I think about them."

"Why?"

"Another problem I have is concentration. I spend most of my time thinking about bad things like your example happening," I noticed how strange his face looked, his skin seemed stretched too tightly over his cheeks in a way and his lips reminded me of girls' lips. Still I liked the way he looked, as though he came from a different country or a different world. I imagined he was a demon who had come to tell me his secrets in exchange for mine.

"The thoughts never leave and then I start over-thinking and that is one of the triggers to my freak outs," I murmured, distracted by other thoughts, wondering how much he would tell me in exchange. I had to give him more and more.

"You shall not be stuck in their heads, they will forget you," he took my hand, startling me. I almost pulled away but managed to stop myself in time, I knew that he was trying to tell me something important. "They will wonder more about what is in your head about them when they speak to you, but then they forget. There's not enough room in most heads for too many people."

I said nothing, mulling over his words. In my head there was room for two people at a time, me and one other person. I never enjoyed spending time with groups but a friend at a time was sometimes pleasant.

"Do not think very long about these things," he went on. "Imagine the very worst thing that can happen first and then see that it is not particularly bad. It is not to have your arm crushed in a car door or to burn off your fingers. It is children laughing and children are very cruel. The more afraid people are the more cruel they can be."

"That may be true, but 'what if' is always in my head," I furrowed my brow, thinking of cruelness, in books and in real life.

"Remember that they are afraid too, if not of you then of each other," he insisted.

"But that thought won't change the feeling."

"Then remember two things: what is in your control and what is not. Remember to keep them separate and worry only about the first."

"I don't have control over that at this point," I looked down at my feet, I did not want to lie but my words made me feel sad because I was weaker than him.

"A lot of people pretend to be puppets," he said with cold eyes. "They pretend that they have to feel angry or they have to be afraid when that is truly absurd. There was once a man, a philosopher, who was told that he would be hanged the next day. That day he did not run because they would catch him, he did not cry or rage because no one that mattered would hear. He went for a walk, had a pleasant lunch with his family, read a book and then was hanged in the evening. To worry about something that cannot be changed is to add to one's burdens."

"Was there really such a man?" I asked him.

He only smiled.

"But sometimes I feel things and I know they are silly but they do not go away. Don't you feel that way too?"

"No," he seemed hurt when I said that, as though I had offended him.

"I'm sorry," I hurried to say.

"For what?"

"For saying you have feelings," I felt very stupid as soon as I said that, I put it in the wrong words and it seemed like even more of an insult.

"I do have feelings," he put his hand on my knee and I bit my lip a little because it felt strange.

"Do you have any friends?" I asked him.

"No."

"I don't either," I smiled, in a way relieved that there was something wrong with him too. I could tell but I wanted to make sure just because it is satisfying. "What is your name?"

"Hannibal Lecter," he answered.

"I'm Will," I smiled, finding it funny that he would say his last name. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I will be thirteen in two months, you can come to my birthday party."

He smiled strangely at me and I imagined that meant he would not come.

"Did I help you Will?" he asked me.

"You did," I was not sure yet but I did not want to hurt his feelings. I still had to think about what he had told me.

"I am glad. You are my first patient."

"Patient?"

"I want to be a psychiatrist when I'm older. I have read a lot of books about it and now I am ready to put them to use."

"Psychiatrists don't help people, they're there to check if you're broken or normal."

"What if you're broken?"

"Then I'm broken."

"I will try to fix you, will you see me again?" he looked at me with expectant eyes and I knew I could not say no even though he made me uncomfortable.

"Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," I bit my lip again.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For making you nervous."

"I—it's okay. You're nicer to me than most people. I guess I'm just not used to it," I forced a smile.

"I see no reason to be unkind," he reached out and ruffled my hair

I ruffled his in return, I often mirror people when I do not know what to do, in cases like these. He looked surprised that I did but I do not think he was annoyed with me.

"I must go now Will but I shall see you tomorrow at 3:00pm for your next appointment," he stood up, taking his bag of shoes and socks.

"Where will we meet?"

"Here, remember our spot."

I nodded.

That was the first day I met Hannibal.


	2. The Swan Skeleton

The next morning I felt as though time was moving slower than usual, I did what I could to keep myself busy but none of my usual hobbies seemed to pull my attention away. It had been a long time since I thought I could tell a person everything in my head and not need to guess at what they would answer, just to listen with curiosity because their words would not bite. I was as anxious as I was excited about meeting Hannibal, there was something about him that made my innards twist. It felt like I was at an airport just passing the time until I could go somewhere far away, I did not know what to expect when I got there but it made me restless. Most days I did not expect any particular event to happen unless I created it, but today was different, I had something to wait for that could not have come about by my own doing. I left the house early, needing to get my feet moving because everything inside of me was urging me to run, I made my way through the paths leading away from the silent neighborhood and to the beach. I knew it was still early but the sooner I got there the sooner I could feel at ease, so it seemed to me. I wonder if I was deathly afraid of being late.

It was some time before I could see him and our spot in the distance. I checked my wristwatch, its glass face was cracked across with a great thunderbolt that came from me tumbling off a bicycle, but the numbers still shone brightly and I knew that we had both arrived forty minutes early. I smiled broadly, wondering if he had felt the same inclinations.

With only a slight jolt of hesitation I sat on the warm sand next to Hannibal, startling him from the book that he was engrossed in, my mother would have said that he would become an old man one day with terrible back pains just by looking at his posture. Luckily she was not there to see him nor myself as I had a foreboding that she would not like me seeing him, though I could give no sensible reason for this. With an inexplicable certainty I knew that I would keep our meetings a secret. This would be easy enough as few asked about my whereabouts so long as I returned home in time for meals, I saw myself like a stray dog that wandered everywhere and came to the homes where it knew it may be fed. My mother and my aunt were such benevolent people, though I did not think of them as people I was related to by blood because when they looked at me I could sense that they worried even though I did not do anything bad. As though they knew something I did not, that something terrible was looming in the distance for me that they would not warn me of, for that I could not help but distrust them. Sometimes I would stay up late and lay on the carpet by my bedroom door, my ears straining to make out the words they said at midnight.

"Oh Catherine what will become of him when he's older –"

My aunt said that I would be taken care of and it made me think of the mob bosses from the movies, when they would say someone would be taken care of. I knew that was not what my aunt had meant but I could not help but think it. I suppose it angered me to think that something was wrong and not knowing what, I had a vague notion that it had to do with my strangeness and the therapists but that was the limit of where my musings led me. My mother used to ask whether I made any new friends at school most years but at some point she stopped, I think that is when she started worrying. I debated whether or not to tell her about Hannibal one day or to have him be my secret friend and therapist. In the end I leaned towards the latter, I still was not entirely sure if he would stay with me for a long time or until he fixed me. I then considered whether it was better for me to pretend that I was getting better or if prolonging my strangeness would be what encourages him to remain my friend, I put both of those notions aside as I did not yet know enough to make such a judgment.

"Hello Will," he set down his book as though to say his attention was fully on me.

"Hello, sorry that I'm early, if you're not ready for me," I answered, my voice wavering slightly. I had promised myself that I would look into his eyes when I spoke but already I broke that promise. It made me uneasy because when I looked at people's eyes and they in mine it felt a little bit like they could see inside of me and know what I thought of them, that deep down I thought something horrid about them that was still hidden even from myself. Another part of me knew that was my imagination but it did not help enough to reassure me.

"It's alright, I am pleased to see you," he pressed his hand against my shoulder and smiled encouragingly in the way I saw adults do.

In a sense his manner seemed contrived to me but I did not mind it, that he was putting on airs as my mother would say of people who acted with an unwarranted dignity. I wondered how she knew which was which, the real from the false. Looking back it occurred to me that those for which it was suitable were usually the men from the bigger houses in the neighborhood but not their wives if they had come from families that had not been wealthy before they married. Looking at Hannibal and his fine clothing, though slightly dirty and crumpled from sitting on the beach, I decided that he was likely from the wealthy houses. And as he was not a woman nor married he may well be in the right role, though I could not say this with utmost certainty since I had little experience studying children and youth from this group. They would go to a different school than I would and I rarely walked through their area, although their park was bigger it was made discouragingly unnatural by the gardener's meticulous care and so I was partial to the forest near the lake for my outings.

"I am pleased to see you too," I reflected his words to him with utmost sincerity.

"Would you like to start your appointment now?" he asked me.

"I want to ask you more about you first, since I think we have time," I ventured to say.

"Very well," he smiled at me again but I could tell he was not pleased anymore.

"Do you live close to the beach?" I decided to begin with trivial questions as not to upset him by being too curious. I noticed that is how most people have conversations, at first they ask about boring things that do not matter like the weather or where people buy their shoes or coats and only afterwards do they venture to ask their real questions. If they like the types of answers they get they ask more and more and eventually become friends, but if they don't they often go back to the boring questions and never get to become friends unless they have to pretend to like at work for certain advantages that might or might not come. I think it is called testing the waters or being a bootlicker, I would usually forget to do this since I do not see the point of asking questions that do not matter and do not want many things from people .It surprises them when I ask things I wonder about and after that we would usually not become friends. But with Hannibal I will try to remember everything I learned but at the same time find out as much as I can, I hope this can be done.

"Yes, about ten minutes away," he replied. I concluded that he lived in the wealthier neighborhood after all.

"Do you live with your mother or your father?"

"My uncle."

"I live with my mother but my aunt visits a lot, she lives nearby."

"Your parents are divorced?"

"Yes, my mother said he wanted to marry a whore from work but I think she earned more than him so he likely was not paying her for intercourse, unless she was a gambler like my uncle and had fallen into debt. Still, I think they probably did it because they liked each other because they looked happy together when I saw them but with mother there would be a lot of yelling and one time she threw her coffee at him. It must have really hurt since it was so hot and he called her insane, after that he left. His new wife was quite nice when I visited my dad at work but she did wear a lot of makeup so I see why my mother might have thought that. Did you know that in Auschwitz the prisoners would use their blood to make their cheeks look redder and healthier so they would be kept alive longer as workers?"

"I did," Hannibal nodded with a shy smile he was hiding so I knew he was no longer annoyed. "There was also a man who would have books and furniture bound in human skin, do you know of him too?"

"That sounds very terrible," I tried to imagine the man making these things. "He must have hated Jewish people very much, unlike most people in Nazi Germany that were pretending to so they would not get in trouble."

"What do you feel when you read about such things?" he asked me.

"You mean the war?"

"Yes."

"I think about how interesting and frightening people are," I said after some thought.

"Do you think people are bad or good mostly?"

"I think they are bad only because they are afraid of things or because of weaknesses, insecurities. Mostly they are good. Like dogs."

"Like dogs?" he looked puzzled and I was glad that I would be able to teach him something new.

"Yes, like any animal I suppose but mostly dogs because they can be loyal to others they do not relate to. When they bark or bite it is because they have this impulse inside of them that they cannot help, like a man who cannot control his anger or jealousy or hunger for things he should not hunger for, he's not strong but the impulses are strong. They want to do the right thing, they mean to do the right thing, but they fail to because they are too cowardly or trying to be bolder than they are to make up for not really believing in something. Like god or money or another man or an idea about how things should be. The best dog finds the middle ground but it is hard and takes a lot of training, it is hard to know who can be allowed to pet you and who to bark at because people are good at hiding who they really are."

"What are you loyal to Will?" Hannibal's eyes were fixed upon me while I spoke and I could tell that he had listened closely to everything I said, at times it made me nervous but I kept going because it was important that he heard what I had learned.

"Nothing yet, mainly that I have to be strong and not be suckered in," I said, borrowing my father's phrase which he used when my uncle Larry bought gadgets from the infomercials. He was quite obsessed with them for a time until he lost his money. "When I am older I hope that I will find it, for now I read many books looking for people like me to see what they did because I know that I am different and see things in a way others cannot. I stand back and look while others are too distracted by themselves and other people to be able to do that."

"What are you afraid of believing in?" Hannibal asked me.

"I do not want to say," I replied. The answer was other people and I did not want to hurt him or seem strange. I could tell that he liked me because he touched me in ways that would seem natural like when he touched my shoulder, I read that is how one knows if someone likes you. I'm not sure if that is a matter of fact but it seems plausible, I would touch him too but I am too shy to.

"That is alright, you may tell me when you feel comfortable," he assured me.

"Okay," I looked out at the water to avoid his eyes.

Hannibal reached out for my cheek and tried to turn my head to face him again, I pushed his hand away roughly as a reflex and instantly felt embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I forced myself to look at his stifled surprise and mirrored embarrassment.

"No, I'm sorry," said Hannibal.

"Why did you do that?" I said almost inaudibly because I knew I was going to ask questions out of different reasons than curiosity.

"Do what?" he leaned closer to hear me because I was mumbling as I do when I am nervous.

"Make me look and touch me."

"Simply because I wanted to," he answered with little hesitation.

"Why?" I feigned surprise, I wanted him to say that he liked me.

Hannibal looked annoyed again and hid it only a little, making me feel ashamed as though I had offended him.

"It's alright, I promise."

"What is?" Hannibal asked.

"That you don't tell me and that things stay the same. I want to hold your hand even if that is something very insignificant and we do not know each other well, still I already know that you are different so I feel more comfortable with you than any other."

Suddenly Hannibal reached out and took my hand, his eyes glancing around the beach to see if anyone was looking at us. Reassured, he held it tightly for a moment longer before bringing it to his lips and kissing my fingers, it sent my blood pounding to my ears and I pulled my hand away feeling afraid. Hannibal smiled at me in an anxious or expectant way while I thought about what happened. I knew thinking was of no use and that my mind was jumbled, I gave him my hand back and he held it again. His skin was soft and his hand was slightly smaller than mine. I felt so overwhelmed with happiness as we looked at each other in a way no one had looked at me before; I began to laugh, overpowered by this strange nervousness.

I felt scared again. Hannibal pulled his hand away and people began to look. Unexpectedly he started laughing too, a fake laughter. He was laughing with me though not out of nervousness. He took his book and opened it in front of me as though urging me to look at it, I leaned closer and saw that a diagram of swan skeleton. It seemed sinister and beautiful like a tribal drawing on the wall of a cave. It had no need of flesh nor of feathers. I continued to look at the drawing and when I closed my eyes I could still see the picture on my eyelids, its colors inverted. My shaking had not yet stopped but I could feel it ebbing away. I think Hannibal and the swan were protecting me from the people on the beach seeing my strangeness and from that moment I knew that I could trust him.


End file.
